


another year (in pieces, in kisses)

by Champagne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anniversary, Bastards in Love, Date Night, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter lovingly harassing his husband, or as much of a date night as possible for these two, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne
Summary: He doesn’t want to think about Peter taking him apart, kiss by kiss, until he was in pieces and spread out to catch the light like a fragmented prism. But he thinks about it anyway, because he’s been set up for failure and his mind is a traitor.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	another year (in pieces, in kisses)

**Author's Note:**

> ........i can't remember if i got a beta for this fic! :D  
> so if you find formatting/spelling/grammar errors, please feel free to point them out!
> 
> also, there is no nsfw in this fic despite what the summary may imply, there's just a lot of Yearning really.

Elias looks down at the bouquet of roses held just under his nose, then gives Peter a half smile and a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t say the words Peter wants to hear, and simply takes the roses and puts them in the vase already prepared and waiting while Peter takes a deliberate step away from his desk and shoves his hands in his pockets.

Neither of them say a word for a long, but not tense, few seconds. The silence is normal--expected, even. Words spoken in times like these feel like lies, while the silence speaks volumes and sings serenades. Peter finally gives Elias his own half smile back, and Elias can’t stop the chuckle from escaping his throat.

“What are your plans for today?” Peter asks, finally, after another few minutes of silence. Elias had sat back down and resumed his work, and he looks up to where Peter had migrated, just beside his desk, with another raised brow. “No reason,” Peter says to Elias’ wordless question.

He’s not so foolish as to not realize the day. He’s also not so foolish as to bring attention to that, because that defeats the purpose of their entire song and dance. Words are easy, until they’re not. Actions are easy, until they’re not. Circumventing their unique situations was hard, until it wasn’t. And in this situation, Peter is being purposefully cryptic despite Elias knowing exactly what’s on his mind, and it makes both of them happy, somehow.

It’s all rather fucked.

But they make it work.

“I have a meeting after work,” Elias says, lying through his teeth just to watch the way Peter frowns at him in annoyed disapproval. He matches it with his usual smile, the one that Peter typically describes as smug or, if he’s particularly annoyed with Elias, smarmy. “It shouldn’t be too long. Just a discussion about allocating funds.”

Peter doesn’t take the bait, but he does roll his eyes. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face when Elias chuckles again, and he turns and starts to leave with a wave over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back later, then,” Peter says, and disappears into a rolling fog bank that fills Elias' entire office doorway for another thirty minutes after he’s gone.

And, as expected, Peter is waiting just outside of his office at the end of the day. He’s lingering in the corner, as far away as physically possible from where his secretary is tapping away at the computer, and his shoulders slump the instant Elias appears. In something like relief, if Elias is reading it correctly, but it could also be irritation. 

(He hopes it’s irritation, because irritation promises release later.) 

He lingers there while Elias exchanges pleasantries with the secretary, and takes the few steps to fall into pace beside him when Elias finally leaves with a polite farewell said over his shoulder.

“I don’t see how you can stand it,” he mutters, as usual. The air grows heavy with an ocean breeze of salt before ebbing away to normal levels. The space around Peter is hazy, but he remains beside Elias and matches him step for step as they make their way out of the institute.

“Of course not,” Elias says, as usual. “Because people are your worst enemy.”

“Don’t me so dramatic,” is the response.

“Clearly you don’t know me, then,” is the riposte.

It earns a smile from Peter that’s so brief it might as well not have happened. “Sometimes I wonder.”

The drive home is, as usual, spent in silence. It’s a liminal space that neither of them want to break and make whole, a place where they simply exist in proximity, mostly because Elias has appearances to keep up and Peter detests car rides. Their unique brand of comfort can’t be found everywhere, and leather and mahogany is as alienating as simple human pleasures can be.

Peter is out of the car the instant it stops moving, and leads the way inside. Elias shakes his head and follows.

He’s not expecting to be pressed up against the door seconds after he closes it. He’s almost  _ surprised _ at Peter’s arms around him and his lips against his, but the surprise gives way to something pleasant and tingly that lasts until Peter pulls away and heads further inside without another word.

Elias Knows that Peter is smirking. He huffs and straightens his clothes before following after him.

Dinner is a simple affair, most days, and today is no different. Peter starts on whatever meat it is he’s craving, slicing and seasoning it with surprising ease, while Elias takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of an island chair. He decides that, since Peter seems to have his heart set on chicken and is using a frankly ridiculous amount of garlic, that alfredo sauce is a good partner to it.

He opens the fridge and starts to grab ingredients, and only gets heavy cream and the block of mozzarella before there’s a presence behind him, a little too close. He throws out an undignified elbow and catches Peter right in the stomach, earning a grunt and a scoff, and uses the newfound space to empty his hands onto the counter beside the fridge. Peter gives him a smile that Elias can only describe as coy, because the glint in his eye detracts from the innocence he’s trying to mimic.

He rolls his eyes and reaches into the fridge again, but by the time he stands up with the parmesan and white cheddar Peter has taken that too-close spot again with a smirk on his face that irritates Elias immediately.

He forgets about that irritation when Peter steps closer still, backing him into the open fridge, and kisses him soundly. He doesn’t quite forget that he’s holding several blocks of cheese, but he still almost drops them with the attention Peter is giving him.

After several minutes, Peter steps away and returns to his cooking like nothing happened.

Elias drops the cheeses onto the counter as well, and then takes a moment to collect himself, straightening his clothes and gently massaging his bruised lips. Peter is smirking again when he finally moves to start his part of the meal.

The rest of it is made in a comfortable, if a little tense, silence.

Elias shakes his head. Tense isn’t quite the right word. Expectant is closer. Meaningful applies something unspoken, but he’s almost certain Peter is just doing this to mess with him. It’s more like the silence is crackling, like sparklers or static electricity. He knows there’s a proper word to describe it, but it escapes him, and the Eye has no interest in his frivolous question.

Either way, the tension pulls at his muscles and tendons and makes him want to move, so he does. He starts pacing around the kitchen whenever he is unoccupied, which turns into full on circuits once he’s done with the alfredo sauce.

By the time the food is ready, Elias is on his tenth lap around the kitchen, and Peter is seated at the island and watching him with his chin in the palm of one hand and a raw affection so strong it’s almost a heat in the air. He says nothing and simply follows him with his eyes as Elias takes the pots of their burners and places them on holders, and it’s not unpleasant to be the observed for once. Peter’s eyes are cold against his shoulders like freezing rain on a scorching day or the first snowfall of winter.

It’s distracting, but Elias isn’t about to tell Peter that.

He turns off the burners and takes two steps before Peter says, “Let’s simplify this today.” Elias turns around from where he was about to grab the serving dishes, frowning, watching Peter’s mouth more than looking at his eyes, and Peter chuckles. He deliberately steps too close and presses Elias against the counter as he reaches around him to grab plates from the cabinet. Elias tries to pretend he’s not holding his breath, but by the time Peter is kissing him again it’s a lost cause and it rushes out in a sigh against Peter’s mouth.

Peter chuckles again as he steps away and serves himself straight from the pots. Elias’ brain takes a moment to catch up to what he’s seeing before he scoffs, properly scandalized by Peter’s lack of etiquette, but moves to do the same. Peter makes direct eye contact before licking the spoon for the alfredo sauce, and his laugh echoes through the hallways after Elias slaps it out of his hand.

He stands there and waits with calculated patience for Elias to serve himself as well, winning the staring contest because Elias is too hungry to care about being petty. He hooks his arm around Elias shoulders and directs them away from the dining room, instead steering them right toward the den. He barely opens his mouth to start complaining before Peter backs him into the doorframe and kisses him again, briefly compared to the others.

Elias narrows his eyes at him. “I’m getting tired of your shenanigans,” he grumbles, but he still misses the cold when Peter pulls away and sits on the sofa.

“Shenanigans,” Peter repeats with a chuckle. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

“It’s an apt description.” Elias sighs and finally sits down beside him, far enough away that Peter has to lean to pat Elias’ knee in faux sympathy.

“Perhaps,” is all Peter says before he turns on the television and gives all of his attention to the brainless talk show that’s on. He keeps the remote out of Elias reach and changes the channel back whenever Elias gets up to physically change it, until Elias finds himself fed up with it and turns off the television entirely. They eat in that same tense silence from earlier for several long minutes.

Then Peter gives him a pleasant smile that betrays nothing of what he’s thinking, and Elias glares at him in advance for whatever it is he’s scheming, because it is starting to become annoying and beginning to inconvenience him.

He expects the next kiss, but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared for it. He finishes eating first, setting his dishes on the coffee table, and a few minutes later Peter does the same. Then, in the same motion of stretching out and setting down his plate, Peter rounds on Elias and enters his space, pressing him into the arm of the sofa. He’s solid and cold and a comforting weight even as Elias’ irritation flares and he bites down on Peter’s lip, making him pull away. But Peter only scoffs and moves back in for another kiss, and Elias finds himself near helpless against the incessant kissing and the arms on either side of him.

He may make some embarrassing noises, but thankfully Peter draws no attention to them.

He leaves Elias half draped over the arm of the sofa and stands, adjusting his coat and rubbing his jaw like it hurts from all his smirking. “I have to go,” he says, sounding as amused as he looks. He breaks into a grin when Elias huffs at him. “I’ll be back later, at least. No need to get pouty.”

Elias knows that responding to the jab is the worst course of action, so he just crosses his arms and glares up at Peter. He finds it difficult to put as much heat into it as he wants to, given how lightheaded he feels and how tightly his heart squeezes in his chest.

Peter shakes his head and leans down again, but just before intruding on Elias' personal space again, he rests his weight against the arm of the sofa and raises a brow at him.

Elias raises a brow back.

“I’ll be back later,” he says again, and plants a quick kiss on the corner of Elias' mouth before standing up and walking away.

It’s a messy and anticlimactic exit, made worse by the fact that Elias can’t drag his thoughts back into order before he hears the front door close.

His irritation warms him as he brings their dishes to the sink and all but tosses them in. It fuels him as he cleans up the mess they left behind, but then it chills him when there’s nothing left but the smell of garlic and cheeses.

And once all of the cleaning is said and done, he sighs and decides to call it an early night. Peter said he was coming back later, but ‘later’ is vague and formless and Elias doesn't want to waste time sitting up and waiting for him like some pathetic puppy in love.

The air smells faintly of seasalt, but he’s not sure if it’s Peter’s lingering presence or his own mind supplying the scent because he misses it. He tries to focus on something else, like the smell of the dish soap or the garlic still hanging in the air, but all that does is bring images of Peter’s besotted expression as he watched Elias pace around the kitchen. And he feels himself grow irritated again, because Peter is all he can think about as he gets ready for bed.

Hair, teeth, face. Skincare products, vitamins. It’s a mindless routine that leaves his thoughts wandering, to fog and stormy blue eyes and ridiculous sailor hats. He finds himself staring at his reflection for far longer than necessary as he brushes his hair for a third time.

It’s ridiculous. He hates how easily Peter can throw him off if he puts his mind to it. He hates how easily he lets himself be thrown off.

He thinks of the bouquet he left in his office, and the slump to Peter’s shoulders when Elias stepped out of his office at the end of the day.

He thinks about rings and stares down at his, sitting in the shallow dish beside the tap, and thinks of weddings as he slips it back on and exits the bathroom.

Elias finally plops down onto his bed in such an undignified way that, under normal circumstances, he’d be annoyed at himself. But now all he can do is roll under the covers and bury his face in his pillow and groan, loud and prolonged, because that’s how his day has felt. He runs through every moment and tries to separate and categorize, but he finds it difficult to do through the haziness and fluttering in his chest.

Flowers, and Peter. Goodbyes, and Peter. Car rides, and Peter.

And then the kisses. His face heats immediately, and he groans again.

Against the front door, a surprise and warm, even for Peter, leaving his stomach flopping around like a beached fish. And again, as he thinks about it.

Then, as ridiculous as it sounds, in the fridge. Teasing, prolonged, and exactly how Elias  _ doesn’t  _ like to be kissed but how Peter likes to kiss him, simply because of how he unravels. And  _ again _ , as he thinks about it.

He reflects on the kiss against the den threshold and hates that it was a calculated move on Peter’s part. Brief, to keep Elias off balance and prepare him for the next kiss on the sofa, but still affectionate. Still loving.

He sighs.

He doesn’t want to think about Peter taking him apart, kiss by kiss, until he was in pieces and spread out to catch the light like a fragmented prism. But he thinks about it anyway, because he’s been set up for failure and his mind is a traitor.

He heaves another sigh into his pillow. Stupid, stupid emotions.

It becomes impossible to focus at all when he feels a point of ice on the back of his neck. There’s the slight pressure of a hand against his lower back and a new weight in the space beside him, making the bed sink down, and Elias reaches out to smack whatever it is he can touch of Peter, of whatever might be solid enough for it. Peter huffs a laugh against his skin and pulls away, out of bed, but he has the decency to still be there when Elias rolls onto his side to glare at him.

“You’re the worst,” he grumbles.

“Yes,” Peter says, grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

It’s a challenge, and Elias finds himself too raw around the edges to meet it.

“Yes,” he says softly. Peter startles and blinks, shock and awe clear on his face. “I do.” He kicks out and catches Peter right in the knee, making him stumble and curse. “Just.  _ Out _ with it, next time,” he hisses, still softly.

Peter’s laugh matches him in volume, and he shucks his coat before climbing into bed beside him. Elias rolls away, putting his back to Peter in a tired petulance that backfires immediately. Peter wraps an arm around Elias’ waist and pulls him to his chest, nuzzling his hairline. “I make no promises,” he mutters against the back of Elias’ neck. His lips are freezing but they leave the skin hot where he touches. “Here’s to another year.”

Neither of them know how many they have left, whether that be alive or together. Elias relaxes into Peter’s arms and closes his eyes and pretends, just until he falls asleep, that there isn’t a storm perpetually looming on the horizon.

It’s better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> the line "It's all rather fucked." is one that i stared at for a LONG TIME because I was like.........there has to be a better word for this, it's so crass given the framing.  
> but at the same time, like, what word better encapsulates just how off kilter and unconventional these two are, as people and lovers? Nothing! so i kept it lmao


End file.
